Her Rebel Heart: A romance of the English Civil War

by Alison Stuart

  Deliverance came out from behind the table and walked over to him. She laid her hand on his chest and leaned forward, intending to kiss him but he took a step back gently disengaging her hand.

  “Deliverance.” He took a breath. “We can’t go on like this. I am here to do a job, not dally with Sir John’s daughter.”

  She blinked in disbelief. “What do you mean?”

  “There will be no more dalliance.”

  Deliverance stared at him as she tried to understand what he had just said.

  “You don’t want me anymore? Is it something I did?” she said, mortified by the crack in her voice.

  He didn’t answer for a long moment and his gaze drifted to the table behind her. He shook his head. “It’s nothing that you have done, Deliverance. You are an extraordinary woman. But you must know I have an unsavoury reputation--”

  “For trysts with buxom girls from the dairy?” Anger flared in Deliverance’s chest.

  A look of surprise crossed his face. “No…yes…but that’s not it. It’s you I am concerned for. Deliverance, I am a soldier. I could be dead tomorrow. I don’t want to leave anyone grieving for me, so whatever feelings we may have begun to entertain for each other, we must put to one side and work together for the common cause in which we are both engaged. Now, I have matters to attend to.” He bowed stiffly. “Good day, Mistress Felton.”

  Deliverance stood in the middle of the floor staring at the door as it shut behind him. She sank down on her father’s chair, buried her head on the table and wept as if her heart would break.

  Her heart had broken, into a thousand razor-sharp shards.

  “Liv, what’s happened? Are you all right?” Deliverance raised her head. Penitence stared at her with a look of horror on her beautiful face.

  Deliverance shot to her feet and walked to the window, keeping her back to her sister.

  “It’s nothing.” But her voice sounded thick from weeping and Penitence was no fool. “Just very tired.” She cleared her throat, hastily wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “I need a little time alone today.”

  Penitence crossed to her sister, putting her arms around her shoulders. “You're doing a wonderful job, Liv, but no one will blame you if you sometimes have to seek some solitude.”

  “That’s it exactly, Pen.” She leaned her head against her sisters. “Just leave me here for a little while.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Deliverance nodded.

  She waited until her sister had left the room, closing the door behind her. From the window she could see Luke deep in conversation with Ned and Melchior over the latest damage to the west wall. At the sight of the familiar silhouette, her heart turned a somersault. She closed her eyes and allowed herself the shameful indulgence of remembering how he had held her, how he had kissed her and then in the chapel how—

  She shook her head as if by doing so she could dispel the memories. She had behaved like a hoyden, and he had repaid her by pushing her away.

  She had cried her tears over Luke Collyer like a foolish lovelorn maiden. That would never happen again.

  Below her the castle bustled with soldiers and the household staff, all going about their business as if everything was normal. Their world had not been turned on its head. Hers was the only broken heart within these walls. She sniffed back the threatening tears. Broken hearts mended.

  A cannonball slammed into the Hawk Tower and the castle shuddered and groaned as if it were a living being. She wondered how much longer the walls could withstand the battering. Should she surrender now before her home was completely destroyed?

  Surrender now and Luke Collyer would be gone from her life. That would solve one problem. She turned, glancing up at the portrait of her father above the fireplace. No, she couldn't surrender Kinton Lacey, not for such a pathetic reason.

  Next time she saw Luke Collyer she would be cool and polite. Their relationship would revert to one of pure professionalism. She would not give him the satisfaction of letting him see how he had hurt her.

  She searched her pile of books and sank down on to the chair opening her copy of “The Exercise of Armes” at the marked page. But the words blurred and she sighed. She couldn’t blame Luke. He had been right. To indulge in a romantic liaison had been a foolish thing to do in the middle of their current predicament. They both needed clear heads, untrammelled by attachments that could never be sustained once the siege was over.

  Chapter 15

  As if God sensed the heaviness in Deliverance's heart, the weather turned foul. All that day and through the night driving rain poured relentlessly through the holes in the walls and roofs of the castle buildings and the courtyard turned to a quagmire.

  After a sleepless night, during which she had smothered hot, shameful tears in her bolster, Deliverance leaned on the castle wall in the grey, dreary light of another dawn looking out over the enemy encampment. She took some consolation in the equal misery the weather imposed on the besieging force. Rain had dampened their powder and the cannons had fallen silent.

  “Mistress Felton,” She turned at the sound of Melchior's voice, hearing a note of urgency in it she had never heard in the usual phlegmatic steward.

  “Melchior?”

  He stood behind her, his chest rising and falling as if he had just run to find her. Sudden fear gripped her. Melchior Blakelocke never ran.

  Her hand instinctively went to her throat. “What is it?”

  “It's our food supply, Mistress Felton,” Melchior said.

  “What about it?”

  “I think you need to come and see for yourself,”

  With a sinking feeling, Deliverance followed her steward to the cellars, below the residence, where the carefully hoarded food supplies had been stored.

  Her mind rushed over the possibilities. Had the rain flooded the cellar? Had rats got into the flour?

  Melchior stopped at the heavy oak door and turned the key he carried. Deliverance stepped inside, allowing her eyes a moment or two to accustom to the gloomy light that came from several small window embrasures high in the wall.

  Even before she could make out the extent of the damage, her nose told her something was amiss. The smell of ale, mixed with other food smells such as flour rose to meet her.

  Melchior lit the lantern that sat on the ledge outside the room and holding it high, he stepped around her, illuminating a scene of devastation. Deliverance gasped.

  Every flour sack had been cut open, spewing their contents on to the floor where the white powder mixed in a lake of ale from the broached casks. Tubs of apples had been upended and the cheeses hacked apart and thrown to the ground to mingle in a gelatinous mess.

  “How...? Who...?” She leaned against the door jamb to gather her breath as the enormity of the destruction and what it meant for everyone within the castle sunk in. “Melchior, what are we going to do?”

  Melchior shook his head. “See what can be salvaged and clean up the mess,” he suggested, ever practical.

  “You better fetch Captain Collyer. He needs to see this,” she said sinking on to the bottom step.

  It took at least ten minutes before Luke clattered down the stairs. She had gone out of her way to avoid him for the last twenty-four hours but seeing him so close, the familiar skip of her heart, accompanied by an almost physical pain threatened to betray her.

  Part of her just wanted to put her face in her hands and cry—and not for the ruined food.

  Luke had been awake most of the night, pondering on the most urgent repairs to the castle, and had just managed to find a quiet moment in the library to close his eyes when Blakelocke had burst into the room without knocking. One look at the man’s face had told him something had gone seriously wrong.

  His first thought had been for Deliverance but no, she sat on the bottom step her chin resting on her hands, her shoulders slumped. She didn't bother to look up or to speak, just waved a hand at the cellar.

  Luke’s chest tightened as he took in the
extent of the devastation. Someone had done a comprehensive job of destroying their food supplies.

  He responded by blaspheming volubly and sank down on to the step beside her. “Is it all gone?” he asked at last.

  “I don't know what can be salvaged yet.” She looked up at him. “Who could have done this?”

  “Someone within these walls,” Luke said. “Someone who does not have our interests at heart.”

  She blinked and said slowly, “You mean there is a traitor?”

  “Yes,” he said, his mouth a grim, tight line. “Do we know when it happened?”

  She shook her head. “I always check the door before going to bed. It was locked last night”

  “And this morning?”

  She looked up at Melchior. “Who found this?”

  “I did, ma'am when I came to dole out the day's rations. The door was locked.” Melchior shook his head. “I blame myself.”

  Luke rose to his feet. “Don't be a fool, Blakelocke. This isn't your doing. Someone had access to a key. Who else, besides yourself, holds keys, Mistress Felton?”

  If she noticed the deliberate use of her formal name, nothing in her face responded. She stood up and faced him.

  “There are only two keys. I have one and Melchior the other.” She held up her ring. “It doesn't leave this ring.”

  “Has anyone borrowed the key?”

  Deliverance frowned. “I have given it to a few people who had need to access the cellar for food preparation but it has always been returned to me.”

  “Who?”

  Deliverance named the cooks and several of her household staff, adding, “They have all been with our family for years and I would stake my life on their honesty. Surely you don’t suspect--”

  “War changes people, Mistress Felton.” Luke ran a hand through his already dishevelled hair. “We won't be able to keep news of this disaster quiet. See what you can do to mitigate it and also what can be saved. Blakelocke, come with me.”

  He found his way blocked by Penitence who stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at her sister.

  “Oh, this is terrible. What are we going to do, Liv?” Penitence said.

  Deliverance looked up at her sister. “Gather the maids. We are going to clean up as best we can and salvage what can be salvaged. The cheeses can be washed and dried, the apples may be bruised but they are still edible. There is still some flour in the bags and ale in the vats.”

  “But surely not enough to last us more than a few days?” Penitence added unhelpfully.

  “We are just going to have to ration ourselves. Save every ounce of flour that can be saved,” Luke said as he passed Penitence, thoughts whirling through his mind.

  He had convinced himself that an estrangement with Deliverance was for the best but seeing the unguarded misery in her face when she had first looked up at him, tugged at his heart. For all his fine words, nothing could change his feelings for Deliverance Felton.

  He stopped at the top of the cellar stairs and took a deep breath, pushing all thoughts of Deliverance to one side. The greater good of the castle and every soul within it had to be considered and he had a traitor to find.

  Luke paraded the garrison in the courtyard despite the pouring rain. He stood at the top of the steps and looked down at the gathered throng. Water dripped from the brim of his hat down his collar. If he felt tired and dispirited, weary of the siege, then he could only imagine what the garrison must be feeling. In their present mood the news that their food supply had been compromised could well provoke mutiny.

  Behind the ranks of men, the household staff, who had also been summoned, milled in the poor shelter of the buildings surrounding the courtyard, whispering to each other. He wondered if they were speculating on whether he brought them news of capitulation.

  As he scanned the faces, his resolve hardened. No matter how wet, miserable and hungry they were, among them was a traitor, a traitor hoping that the destruction of the food supplies would lead to a speedy capitulation.

  He glanced over to the corner of the courtyard where the small herd of cattle had been confined. The miserable beasts would not feed a hundred mouths for very long. Before calling the muster he had checked with Melchior Blakelocke, who confirmed that almost all of the flour was gone. Half the cheese had been saved, along with turnips, carrots and dried beans. They had water to drink but at best they could last another two weeks. After that—

  He held up a hand commanding instant silence.

  “There is a traitor among us,” Luke began. A murmur rose from the crowd as each man looked to his fellows. “Last night, someone broke into the cellars and attempted to destroy the castle's food supplies.”

  A surge of anger rose from the soldiers. To steal a comrade's food was one of the lowest crimes a soldier could commit. Luke scanned their faces, hoping to see a guilty face but all he could see was stunned disbelief.

  “Fortunately the perpetrator was not entirely successful and there is food enough for us to survive on for the time being. However our rations will be severely cut.”

  “How long 'ave we got?” A voice called out.

  Luke hesitated. They had a right to know. “Two weeks, maybe three.”

  A rumble of anger surged among the men and he held up a hand. “If any person here knows who may be responsible, there is no shame in turning them over to me. You all know the price for such treachery.”

  Hanging...the unspoken word fell on the crowd, subduing it into silence.

  “If anyone has any information as to the identity of the perpetrator, they can speak to Sergeant Hale, Lieutenant Barrett or myself.”

  One of the men, who had been with him at Byton, pointed a finger at Toby Brown.

  “What about him? Convenient he's the only one to survive Byton, and then comes here all whey-faced and eager to help.”

  Toby's mouth fell open, his eyes widened. “Me? Oh, no, I'd never... I'm Captain Collyer's man to the death.”

  But a tide of sentiment swiftly turned against the boy. The garrison needed a culprit and whatever the boy's guilt or otherwise, he made a convenient scapegoat.

  Two of the soldiers grabbed the boy pushing him forward to the steps.

  Luke looked down into Toby's frightened face. He wanted to believe the boy's protestations but he could see logic in the argument put to him by the others. Toby was the outsider and the circumstances of his coming to Kinton Lacey could give rise to suspicion.

  “Take him to one of the cells and lock him up,” Luke said.

  “You don't think...?” Ned whispered in his ear.

  “For the boy's own safety if nothing else,” Luke replied. “They'd hang him here and now if they had half a chance.”

  He turned on his heel and strode back into the residence.

  In the Great Hall, Luke leaned on the table, looking down at its ancient surface, polished to a gleam by age and many applications of beeswax.

  “We should have put a guard on the cellar.”

  He straightened at the sound of Deliverance's voice and turned to face her.

  “It's enough I have a guard on the water supply. I couldn't spare another for a sturdy, locked, oak door.” He saw the unhappy look on her face. “Don't blame yourself, Del... Mistress Felton.”

  “But it was my key.”

  He shrugged. “It is easy enough to make a copy.”

  She frowned. “Is it?”

  He shook his head and allowed himself a smile at her sometimes endearing naivety.

  “Deliverance, you are so innocent. All you need is a mould of clay, press the key into it and then fill it with molten iron and you have a copy. There is a blacksmith's forge working here. Anyone could have done it.”

  “But only if they had the original.”

  “You said yourself, there are people you have trusted with the key to run errands.”

  She sank into the great chair at the head of the table and rested her chin on her hand.

  “How long do you think we ca
n we hold out?”

  “Much longer than you think. When we run out, we can always eat the horses...and then there are the dogs, the cats and the vermin.”

  She looked up at him, her mouth opening in horror. “Surely you're jesting...no, I can see you're not.”

  “This is the reality of our situation. I'm not going to paint a pretty picture for you. The certainty is Farrington will keep banging away at our walls, while we grow physically weaker. In the end he will simply walk in.”

  Her expression was one of despair, and Luke cursed himself for his honesty, but she needed to know. She wouldn't find this in her text books. This was war and war was brutal. He turned on his heel and walked out leaving her sitting at the long table in the ruins of her father's hall.

  “We've got to get a message through to Gloucester,” he said when he found Ned on the castle wall.

  “Gloucester's still besieged.” Ned stated the obvious.

  “It's the only place help is going to come from,” Luke said.

  Ned nodded.

  “Send a man out through the sally port tonight.” Luke drummed the stone wall with his fingers as he stared thoughtfully out at the enemy position. “I've had enough of being cooped up in here just taking what Farrington throws at us. Tomorrow at dawn, Ned, I'm going to lead a sortie. The men need some action and if we can bring in a little more food, we stand a chance of holding out for longer.”

  “Well, we better not eat the horses tonight,” Ned remarked. He glanced over the wall at the sound of a trumpet “What a surprise. It looks like we have visitors.” He pointed to a party of three men advancing on foot towards them under the white flag of truce.

  Luke held up his hand to stop his own men from firing as the party came within range of the castle wall.

  “Captain Collyer?” An officer stepped forward.

  “I am he,” Luke identified himself.

  “I bring a letter from Colonel Charles Farrington to Mistress Felton and I seek an audience with the lady in order to deliver it.”

  “Come forward and alone. You have my word you will not be harmed,” Luke replied and with a quick glance at Ned who signalled for the small door in the gate to be opened to admit Farrington's messenger, relieved to see that this time it was not Jack who carried the message.